


Before Dawn

by RiseiTekiSensei



Series: It's A Long Story [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I am fandom trash, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route - "I want to stay with you.", Sans Curses, Slow Burn, Soriel, does contain squick, feelings are had by all, nightmares ahoy, sorielweek, sorielweek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseiTekiSensei/pseuds/RiseiTekiSensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have been on the surface for months, but the nightmares haven't gone away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 3 of #SorielWeek2016 on tumblr. The prompt was Comfort. You can find more information and other submissions at sorielweek.tumblr.com.

He bolted upright. His soul shivered and thrummed with fear and pain and the harsh magical expression that burst out of him in the wake of those emotions.

The room’s shadows writhed and twitched in time with the flickers of pale blue and yellow light that his magic created. The disturbing motions consuming his vision weren’t helping his mood.

 

_fuck…_

 

But he forced himself to look past the nauseating movements to study the room beyond; Sans didn’t recognize it.

 

_fucking hell- a nightmare- a memory- a whatever..._

 

“ **_goddamnit_ ** ”, His breath rushed out in a fizzle of sparking blue mist as he cursed.  He didn’t need to breathe, but this was the fastest way to burn off the excess magic buzzing around the inside of his skull.

And the action was comforting. Calming.

Sans really need that calm right about now.

 

_get a fucking grip._

_tone it back, you’re alive and not in goddamn snowdin so just pull it to-fuckin-gether and figure out_ **_when_ ** _and_ **_where_ ** _your sorry ass woke up this time._

 

One of his eye-lights flickered to life as the intensity of his magic started to wane. But even in the ambient darkness his eye-light could barely be seen.

Left. Right. Left again.

He evaluated the bedroom again, and began connecting the details. It didn’t take him long to make the blatant ones, the good ones, the _best_ ones. The other side of the room, _across the tape line_ , was immaculate. The shadows of the action figures slithered across the glossy pink and black posters. Sheets on the opposing bed were taught and crisp and uninhabited.

 

_sleepover._

_oh thank god._

 

Sans let out another shuddering breath. Nobody to wake up, nobody to frighten, nobody to worry. Not this time. _he doesn’t need to deal with anymore of my shi-stuff... at least- not again... this week…_ Sharing a room had been trying at first, but the nightmares had been- well, there weren’t less of them that was for sure, but maybe they were just getting easier to manage, mostly. Normally.

Sans climbed out of bed, leaving the tangle of sheets behind him. He scooped up his jacket from where he’d chucked to the ground a few hours ago. The well-worn fabric brushed across his bare scapulae. Automatically, his hands found their way into the pockets of the familiar hoodie, he didn’t think it actually took conscious effort for his phalanges to do that anymore.

He needed to get to the roof, to check- to reassure himself that he was when and where he thinks he should be. Eye-lights flickered to the large case near the end of his bed.

 

_later. i’ll come back for the compound ‘scope later._

_i need to know,_ **_now_ ** _._

_slippers. i need slippers first._

 

Sans shuffled around the room looking for the ratty old things, but he couldn’t find them. He shifted things with his feet and peered around the dresser, the bed, the nightstand, but all to no avail.

 _where could they have gone! i where ‘em all the goddamn time, so they wouldn’t have just fuckin wandered the hell off!_ Not bothering to keep his mess contained to his side of the room, Sans continued his search. Shifting, peering, moving, kicking-

His mismatched eye-lights looked down at his feet. His slippers were already on.

“ **fuck** ”, Sans swore down at his feet and his own useless hyperextended senses. He scrubbed tiredly at his skull. Phalanges rasped slowly across eye orbits, in a futile gesture to unblur his vision.

 

_just get to the goddamn roof and figure the rest out- later..._

 

Sans took another deep breath, this shakier than the last. He pulled the image of the apartment’s gravel roof into his mind watching it overlay the old carpeting beneath his slippers. Now all he had to make the connection an-

 

**heeheehee Heeheehee HaHaHa!**

 

His magic spiked, the shadows skittered, his soul jumped in imagined, _real! it was- could have been- might still be- real...,_ pain. The image of inky eyes and rosy-cheeks vanished from his mind’s eye.

 

_walk. i should just fuc-fudging walk._

 

Sans’ bones rattled slightly against the knob as he shuffled into the short hall. _keys, door, stairs, door, roof. easy._

The living-dining-kitchen room whispered at the loss of the silence and flickered in protest as he entered it. His reflection was distorted oddly by the tv, he flinched away from it. Cursing under his breath, he shuffled around the small table and headed for the apartment door. Near the little linoleum foyer, a half-wall sat trying to give the small space the illusion of a separate kitchen. On the wall perched an adora _-_ **bowl** _, tori had really liked that one,_ that they’re houseguests had found. It held keys and had snails painted on it. All-n-all a real win-win for the household.

He tried not to jangle as he fished for his keys, he didn’t want to wake T or the kid. _fuck, right. sleepover. kid’s with pap. god at least I won’t accidentally scare ‘em sh-spitless._ Something in the window above the sink sparkled.

It had just been his magic glinting off the glass, but has his head came up he felt his soul stutter in pain as panic began to clench violently at his ribs. _like thin pale ass fingers or fuck- like those fucking shitty ass vines._ He put his keys back in the bowl.

The grey clouds hung thickly over the city. The light pollution mocked him, splashing the clouds with angry red smears of light. Even when he couldn’t see the stars the artificial light was still there, hanging about, inescapable.

 

_welp. plan fuckin b._

 

He slid the chandelier light switch to its lowest setting and moved into the kitchen. _kettle, water, stove._ He moved soundlessly as he lit the burner underneath the kettle. Soon a mug and an instant packet of hot chocolate came to rest on the counter nearby.

Papyrus would have used milk, but that seemed like too much effort just now. He didn’t really want to be here. Inside. Watching a kettle. Here he could **think.** It was the very last thing Sans wanted to be doing. He wanted to lose track of time in his redshift calculations, in the retrograde movement of Mars, in finding the new position of the ISS. Not watching a kettle boil water.

His bones shivered and rattled. Sans pulled the jacket closer around himself, trying to fend of the cold.

His eye sockets widened and he swore. _cold. skeletons don’t get fucking cold- or fucking hot or fucking anything!_ As if to prove the point to himself he slapped his hand onto the side of the metal kettle. Bone wrang against metal. He didn’t flinch from the sound or the heat. His bones shook a little less, but his breathing had grown harsh again.

He scrubbed his face again. Bone rasped against bone.

He pulled his hands away from his face.

 

_Red- They were hot and sticky and covered in something ugly and red and- his hands were dripping in it- god it was everywhere. On the floor- on his exposed ribs- on his cut up hoodie. It was soaking into his slippers._

_Then it was cold and burned- horrible and just as ugly and red- and it felt the his bones were frozen and melting from the intense heat of it, all at once and-_

_It switched back to being hot and sticky and stinking of iron and copper._

_Then it smelled like nothing and his soul was on fire and under so much pressure while it tried fly apart- And then the liquid whichever it was dripped down in between his metacarpals where humans had joints-_

_And where it_ **_absolutely s h o u l d  n o t  b e_ ** _-_

_There was so much of it like it was coming from the center of his palms and then bubbling upward and out- and dripping down in nauseating globs that splattered onto the floor.  Sans saw his reflection in the window above the sink- His eyelights out, the ugly burning icey sticky wet filth dripping like it was some kind of grotesque mockery of tears- it just oozed endlessly out of his hollow cracked eye sockets-_

 

And then it was gone.

 

Like it had never been there.

 

He shot to the sink. Wash. He had to wash. _get it off, get it out- off- off- get it off-_ He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.

 

The water stayed clear.

 

He didn’t stop washing.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he had stood there trying to wash the red stains off his bones, but the start of the kettle’s pre-whistle pulled him from the sink. He shut of the stove and splashed hot water onto the cocoa-mix at the bottom of his mug. Sans picked a spoon with his damp shaking fingers and stirred the contents of the mug. The spoon clinked against the ceramic. The freeze-dried marshmallows had already started dissolving.

He dropped the spoon to the counter; where it clattered to a stop, splattering little flecks of hot chocolate everywhere. He shuffled mechanically to pluck a paper towel off of its roll. He dried his hands. He watched as the small droplets of water roll from one bone to the next. Hanging in between his bones without slipping through, as if his palms were as solid as any monsters. The breath he blew out sounded more like a sob then he was comfortable with.

He wiped up the chocolate-y splashes, but left the paper towel crumpled up in their stead. He wrapped his rattling phalanges tightly around the mug. It was hot and solid. It was real.

 

He took a sip.

 

It would have been better with milk. His eyes flickered to the window. The red tinted clouds glowered back.

Maybe if he added some ketchup to the mug it might help? He shuffled towards the fridge, but his eyes traveled upward towards the cabinet above it.

 

_cinnamon would go with this, but i’d have to get a stepstool… the ketchup would just be fa-_

 

Sans almost smacked himself. The mug gripped firmly with this right hand, he raised his left willing it to stop shaking. The cabinet popped open and the amber liquid inside the bottle sloshed as it sailed into his outstretched left hand. The blue glow faded from the glass as he placed the bottle on the counter. He poured a healthy amount of its contents into the mug.

Sans contemplated the bottle in his hands for several long seconds. He knocked back one big mouthful straight from the bottle before sealing it and sending back up to its cabinet. The whiskey burned reassuringly as it fizzled into magic. It, too, was real.

Mug in-hand Sans slowly made his way towards the bookshelf nearby. Without much thought Sans grabbed a favorite of his from the over packed shelves: a well-read and dogeared paperback. Toriel hadn’t been able to resist buying a new book every time she’d walk passed the little second hand bookstore down the street.

Two more steps and he was at the little table. His back towards the tv. His eyes flicked to the window.

 

_plan b works better when paps’ actually here…_

 

* * *

 

Her eyes easily tracked the lazily spinning ceiling fan blades, despite the dark and her blurred vision.

She didn’t want to move. She knew she ought to, that she should get up off her tail and go make herself tea-

Toriel choked. _Not tea. Anything else just not-_ More tears slipped down the sides of her face and into her fur. Following the pull of gravity towards the pillow beneath her head. She didn’t bother to wipe at them.

She should get up and pull herself back together. She had things to do in the morning- _well later in the day it is certainly well passed midnight_. But getting up would mean making herself feel better, it would mean comforting herself-

More tears dampened her fur. _I do not deserve comfort… after everything I have done- after everyone I gave up on- after all of those who I have failed- I do not deserve anything but this-_ Toriel rolled onto her side pulling her feet up towards her chest, damp fur pressed against her skin. It was cold and unpleasant. She didn’t move.

 _This is what I have been reduced to, an old ugly weeping mess. I am not fit for any kind of duty let alone the care of a child._ She let out a bitter laugh that sound more like a sob to her own ears. _What a joke! Me become a mother once more, for- God! The ninth time! I cannot care for a child, it is so obvious-_ Toriel wrapped her large paws around her snout trying to stifle the hideous sobs that burbled out of her throat.

 

_Why do they keep letting me have children…_

 

 _Is not clear that I am incapable of caring for one of those precious little souls- I cannot keep any of them aliv-_ Another sob racked her body and soul.

 

She stopped trying to fight back the tears and let the sound of the pitiful sobs escape from her exhausted soul. Paws firmly clasped over her snout lest she wake one of her hosts.

After this round of tears hiccuped out, leaving her even more drained than before, she was glad that her child was not here to witness her pathetic breakdown. _Likely Frisk is sound asleep by now. Flopped bonelessly across whichever monster-friend that had ended up closest to them... Dr. Alphys, perhaps, or maybe Papyrus because of the familiarity… Or maybe they are sprawled across all three of them in one large pile, Undyne could have insisted on the lot of them huddling together for the last film of the evening…_

The mental image of her child, _that I do not deserve_ , and their beloved aunts and uncle made her soul clench painfully. _Surely, they would be able to care for Frisk better than I ever could…_ She lay like that for several minutes longer, before she noticed what should not have been there: a light.

A soft yellowish light had crept under her door from the living space beyond. Hadn’t she shut off all of the lights before she went to bed? _Who could have left that light on- Sans._ His name immediately jumped to her mind. Because he was the only person who left the lights on when he left a room and because he was the only other being in the apartment at the moment. Toriel heaved out a sigh. _That was just like him, to leave the light on after a midnight snack…_

She should get up and turn it off. She still didn’t move. It wasn’t like it was her responsibility to look after Sans or the apartment… And she wasn’t the one who had to pay for the electric bill, _because you leave here with Frisk rent free_ , so why should it matter…

Toriel rolled away from the door. It was not her responsibility.

 

.

.

.

 

Toriel heavied out a sigh, before forcing herself into a sitting position. The room spun a little, her fur felt matted, and her snout felt stuffy from crying, but she didn’t care. She staggered to her feet and bypassed her robe as she headed towards her door and the light. It wasn’t like it mattered she was just going to shut off the damned light and then stagger back to bed.

Her door swished open silently, due to Papyrus’ habit of oiling all the hinges on everything. Something to do with “...ALWAYS NEED TO BE PREPARED FOR STEALTH ATTACKS…” she couldn’t quite remember. His and Sans’ bedroom door stood wide open in front of her. The room was pitch black, but with the light she could tell that room was a mess and that someone had left it in a hurry. Concern began to fill her chest. _Were Frisk and Papyrus alright? And if the were not why had he not woken her?_

As she crept into the hall she realized why Sans had left the light on. He was still using it. There at the little table he sat in profile to her.  

 

He wasn’t smiling.

 

Face-to-face she supposed the position of his jaw would still give the corners of his mouth a turned up appearance, but the rest of his face and body language practical screamed otherwise. His eyes were fixed on something in the kitchen. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. She knew he didn’t need to, but he always did so even in sleep he continued rhythmically flex his ribcage. His hands moved though. Once she noticed the movement her long sensitive ears began to hear the sounds his bones made against the ceramic mug.

 

*budum dun*

 

*budum dun*

 

*budum dun*

 

One hand drummed its phalanges across the acoustic surface, while the other tapped all four phalanges together against the cup. One right after the other, always.

 

*budum dun*

 

*budum dun*

 

Sans hands moved in a slow steady beat, not speeding up, not slowing down.

 

*budum dun*

 

*budum dun*

 

She knew he wasn’t tapping any louder, but it was all she could hear. Just his fingers tapping.

 

*budum dun*

 

It was going to drive her mad, if he didn’t stop right now.

 

*budum dun*

 

He had to stop.

 

*budum dun*

 

She had to make him stop.

 

She hadn’t realized she had moved towards him until she was standing right next to him, he hadn’t stirred.

“...stop it!” Her voice was hoarse and cracked harshly at the end. Her words hung in the air, echoing in their minds if not in the actual room. His fingers fell away from the cup and went still. He didn’t turn to look at her.

Her throat felt so dry. She hadn’t noticed how parched she had become while she’d been mired down by her miserable crying jags, but now that she had spoken it had become unbearable. “... may I?”, she croaked pathetically at Sans and gestured towards his mug.

He didn’t turn to look at her, he just slide the mug towards her with the side of his hand. “its not just hot chocolate…”, he warned apathetically.

Toriel had began to reach for the mug, but hesitated upon hearing his words. Not the warning, but the way he said them. In all the time she had known Sans she had never heard him sound that- that hollow, before. It was more than just absentmindedness, it was as if he had been emptied out and this was all that was left of him. It frightened her.

She reached for the cup.

She had expected ketchup and chocolate. What she had gotten was a mouthful of cinnamon and whiskey with the word “cocoa” whispered over it. She had the good graces and the willpower not to choke as the liquid hydrated her mouth and throat before fizzling into magic.

She placed the mug back down a little harder than she had intended, “What was that?”. Her words were only a little hoarse, but this time for a different reason.

Sans had reclaimed his mug and he replied in that same apathetic way, “fireball.”

“Excuse me?” Toriel retorted.

“cinnamon whiskey.” he said.

Toriel wasn’t sure why Sans hadn’t turned to look at her, but his gaze seemed to be transfixed by something in the kitchen. “I had not realized you kept alcohol in your home, but I-” Toriel began as she made her way into the kitchen intent on getting water or something of the sort.

“yes you did, you just pretended not to notice.” Sans interrupted.

She looked over her shoulder at him, he hadn’t so much as twitched. His so very dim eye-lights weren’t tracking her. She felt like she should be concerned, but all she could feel was irritation. _He was the one who had left the light on, if he had not wanted me to come and investigate maybe he should have just shut the stupid thing off. Or perhaps if he Actually bothered to turn off the lights normally than I would not have felt the need to come out here at all!_ Lost in thought she hadn’t noticed she had collected a mug, a half tablespoon of cocoa powder, a teaspoon of sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon.

Well, she was mostly done already might as well finish the silly drink. She filled the mug with milk and she started to heat the mug with her magic. Her anger was hot and fast and she could just picture the mug explode from the exposure to such a sudden and scorching heat. She placed the mug in the microwave and set the timer.

It buzzed to life and that left her several minutes of grumpy time to fill. She started by putting away everything she had gotten out, then she threw out the instant cocoa wrap and used paper towel Sans had left out, _oh so typical of him_ , and then she picked up the kettle with the intent of putting it away until she felt it slosh with the movement.

 _If I have said it once I must have said it a hundred times_ \- “Sans, **you** really **must** empty the kettle when you are finished with it.” Toriel insisted.

“just empty it now, then”, he shot back.

If she had been holding onto the metal part of the kettle it would have started whistling. She turned on her heels, her back towards him and took several very slow deep breaths before emptying the warm water from the kettle. When she placed it back where it belonged she may have put it down harder than she should have, but part of her hoped to get some kind of reaction out of the skeleton at the table when the metallic bang echoed throughout the small space. He didn’t even blink.

The microwave went off and she almost jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten it had been on.

She rushed over to silence it and retrieve her steaming mug. With a few moments of studious stirring the smell of _real_ hot chocolate wafted over her. It almost would have made her feel better if she had not kept stealing glances towards the table. As she turned towards him intent on heading back to her room and letting him stew in whatever foul mood he was in **by himself** , she finally realized what had captured his attention. It was the window. Out of the little window she could see the storm clouds royaling thousands of meters above them.

She decided then to do something very petty. She sat down at the little table. Right across from Sans. She knew he wouldn’t be able to see the window around her large form, and she hid a little vindictive smile behind her mug.

Finally, his eyes shifted towards her and now she could really see them properly. They had been so dim it had been hard to get a clear view of them. They looked... fuzzy. But just around the edges, almost as if the lights themselves were out-of-focus. “what? decided you wanted to join me for an nightcap”, Sans stated more than asked.

“Not in the least”, Toriel scoffed, “I have no intention to sit here in the middle of the night and become inebriated.” She deliberately punctuated her words with a sip from her mug.  

Sans snorted somewhere deep in his throat, or whatever passed for one. “look if i’d been plannin’ on getting drunk then i’d have a bottle at my elbow and i sure as hell wouldn’t’ve bothered with a cup.”

Toriel scowled at him disapprovingly, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes flicked to peer over her shoulder before they came back to stare at her. He didn’t say anything more. Nor did she.

The two of them sat there in the after-dark silence, only disrupting it briefly with sips from their respective drinks. After a while, Sans lost interest in her and returned his attention to the sliver of window he could see passed her. His fingers began tapping again.

 

*budum dun*  

 

*budum dun*

 

_I should just leave…_

 

*budum dun*

 

_It’s like he is doing this specifically to drive me away-_

 

*budum dun*

 

_Stop it._

 

*budum dun*

 

_Now._

 

*budum dun*

 

_Stop it right Now!_

 

*budum-* _STOP!_

 

Toriel’s hands had abandoned her mug. She enclosed Sans smaller skeletal ones with her own, trapping his hands against the ceramic. “...stop… please”, she hadn’t meant to whisper it. Nor had she felt the need to cry, but her voice had been barely audible and she began to hurriedly blinking back tears.

It was like she had broken whatever spell had been cast over him. She watched as Sans’ eye-lights resolidified, they didn’t become brighter they just seemed more focused. He sat up from his hunched position and his eyes widened as if he had just now noticed her presence. But he didn’t pull away, no it was something much worse than that. He **looked** at her.

Really looked. His eyes flickered up and down her bedraggled state, taking in every pathetic detail. From her sleep matted fur, to her red rimmed eyes, to her exhaustion, to her oh-so-obviously tear stained face. He saw all of it. It felt like she had been placed onto a slide and every aspect of her appearance, emotional state, and soul stability were being examined meticulously through a lens.

She wanted to pull away, but her fear froze her in place. Her anxiety began clawing its way through her chest. _How could I have been so stupid? I had never stopped to even_ **_consider_ ** _why Sans was even up! God- oh. Oh no… what if- what if he had been up trying to decide what to do with Frisk? What if he_ **_had_ ** _began to notice the kind of mother I actually am- and- and now he’s seen me like this! A m-mess! Some broken and defeated old women- I- I-_ She felt the tears spill over, no amount of furious blinking would have stopped them. She looked down, she couldn’t take it any longer. She wouldn’t be able to handle that slow realization sink into his eyes as his mind made the decision that he needed to take her child away.

Instead she felt something else, something cool and gentle press against her palms. Her eyes glanced up. She could see between her fingers a faint blue light start to glitter, it was almost too dim to notice. _His magic…_ And then the emotions that came with it: _realization, trepidation, compassion, lov-_ She pulled her hands away. His emotions were racing through her thoughts and the cool comfort of the connection left her paws tingling.

 _I cannot- should not- do not deserve this kind of affection. His unwavering need to help me! Me! Of all beings! I have done nothing to earn this kind of- kind of-_ Her head was bowed hiding her paws underneath her large snout as they clenched shakely near her fluttering soul. Surrounded by her own muffled sobs she almost hadn’t heard him.

“.. _.toriel_ …”

It had just been the one word, but it was the tone that had made her raise her head. She knew his voice, better perhaps than her own. She knew all of the different ways it changed to convey meaning. And this meaning- this tone, was one she had heard so many times before. Back in the Underground, on the days she hadn’t been able to bear being by herself, but she knew she wasn’t fit for company. She would curl up by that wretched door to wait. She never had to wait long before he’d come crunching through the snow and start up his jokes. She always tried to stay silent, but he always seemed to know she was there. He’d say, “lady” in just the same way, that ‘I not going to press you, but I’m not going to leave you either’ tone.

And here, now, on the surface, in that little kitchen, he promised that he still wouldn’t leave her. She had to look up, had to see his face, had to know the kind of expression that vow forced his features to take on.

His fingers hadn’t left the mug, he hadn’t tried to reach for her, she could see his bare ribs expanding and contracting as his mind unconsciously began to mimic breathing again. That perpetual exhaustion that he constantly seemed to carry around, had left him with deep groves of fatigue; ones that he always seemed to pretend were merely well-used laugh lines. He wasn’t pretending now. They made him look so very much older than she knew he ought to be. His mouth held its typical perma-grin, but she could see that it looked taught and concerned. And his eyes didn’t waver, didn’t blink or flinch. They were the oldest part about him, she supposed, and they were whole focused on her.

“...I am sorry, Sans…” Toriel breathed out shakily, “... I just cannot- I cannot-”. She hiccuped to herself.

He still didn’t reach for her, but he didn’t pull away. “its okay, t. you don’t gotta explain anything to me… i guess you could say i’m not really in a _talkative_ mood, either…” Sans trailed off.

He sounded tired and sad, but alive. Now he sounded alive and focused and whole again. It made her shudder with the relief of it, she hadn’t even realized how uncomfortable his hollowness had been making her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to speak, so the silence stretched between them.

After several more moments of this, she realized that the silence was worse than before. Now it felt heavy, as if it were waiting for something to happen. Still she couldn’t speak. Sans’ eye-lights flickered briefly towards the window again.

“Why are you up?” Toriel suddenly questioned. The words had come out harsher than she had intended, but she couldn’t let him slip back to where ever he had gone before. She cleared her throat and tried again, “I am sorry, that had not come out right-”

But Sans waved off her apology, “no worries, tori. i think this evening has been… **stressful** for the uh- both of us… i hadn’t planned to um, be down here for so long… i’d been planning on goin’ up to the roof, but um…” Sans trailed off and gestured half-heartedly to the window, “‘s not so doable right now… at least not for what i’d had in mind.”

Toriel wasn’t quite sure what he ‘had in mind’, but she could assume with confidence that it had everything to do with the stars and his telescope. “Uhm, I see… Did you want to, head back to bed then? Since-” Toriel tried to respond.

“no.” Sans interrupted, almost a little panicked. His eyes closed for a second and he took a slow measured breath before continuing, “i, um- no, i don’t really think i can sleep right now…”

Toriel wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so they both fell silent again. She took a sip. Then he did. The silence grew heavier. Toriel tried to rack her brain for something else to say, something else to shatter the growing tension with, but all that popped into her brain was the idiotic thought that she had believed Sans had been sitting here contemplating how to take Frisk away from her. _Oh how could I have been so daft! Where in this life or the next had that notion even come from!_ Toriel felt herself flush with mortification at her own self-centeredness. She buried her snout in her paws.

“...tori?” Sans questioned after several seconds. Her head snapped up suddenly enough that it had alarmed him. His outstretched hand jerked away from where he had been reaching for her.

She pulled away too, all of her pent up embarrassment spurring her into action and away from the little table. “Pie!”, she all but shouted in alarm, “I shall make a pie.”

 

* * *

 

Sans watched her in bewilderment as she scurried over to the refrigerator and began grabbing out ingredients. First she grabbed two lumps of pie dough, then that bag of cherries, and a half stick of butter. She’d mentioned a few days ago that she hadn’t made a cherry pie in quite sometime and was in the mood for one, but Sans hadn’t thought she’d be in the mood to make one now. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he had said or done that made her so uncomfortable, but she didn’t seem to be able to look at him.

That didn’t stop her from stealing furtive glances of him every now and again, as she rolled out the stored dough and placed it into her favorite glass pie tin. She looked like she was still trying to find the right words, but they just wouldn’t come. _like earlier, when she’d kept trying to start a conversation…_ He felt dumb as a stump as his brain **slowly** started to make the connections. _it’s quiet! oh my god! i’m an idiot, she’s never liked it being quiet when she gets like this-_ He started to move, but stopped.

 _what the hell am i supposed to say- or talk about for that matter… hell, does she even want to really talk to me-_ Sans let his hands flop onto the table. His right brushed something. At last, he finally came up with something helpful to do.

With the mug in his left and the old paper back in his right, he pushed away from the table and moved into the kitchen. Toriel had rolled out the second dough ball and plucked up the pizza cutter to start cutting the dough into one inch strips. She glanced at him, but didn’t seem to be able to speak still. Sans cleared his throat and said as non-threateningly as possible, “um- uh, that’s pretty smart… to cut the dough like that i’d’ve never thought of it…”

Her mouth almost twitched in a smile, before she replied, “Ah, well- it just makes it easier to get the strips straight so I can- um, weave them together…” She trailed off. He shuffled nervously, but before he spoke she asked, “Um… Sans- would you like to help me? With the pie, I mean.”

Sans shook his head, he didn’t think he could be trusted with anything that was meant to be edible right now. It took a lot of effort for him to pay attention long enough get some of her simplest recipes to turn out right, and he just didn’t have that kind of focus at the moment. But as her ears drooped he hurriedly explained, “uh, nah t. i was thinkin’ that maybe i could, uh, read aloud- er somthin’... you know like i used ta’ in the underground-  just so it won’t be so quiet… ya’ know?”

Her eyes seemed to light up at the idea and she glanced down to see the book he had been gesturing with. “Memory”, she read the title. “Is that not the one, where Miles becomes an auditor to help Simon?” she asked cautiously.

Sans nodded and then pulled himself up onto the small counter area just between the fridge and the stove. “yeah, miles sorta goes through his whole life changing epiphany thing in this one…” Sans trailed off fondly, before he continued, “uh, you don’t mind if i sit here do ya’?”

“Not at all.” Toriel replied as she began weaving the dough strips together.

Sans nodded once more before, he opened the book and started reading, “chapter one-”

 

* * *

 

Toriel let out a little gasp and Sans stopped mid-sentence, eyes snapping up to her. She had been cutting up the cherries the last he’d checked, but now she’d moved to the sink. He glanced towards her cutting-board, all the stems and pits sat piled on one side and all of the cherry halves were on the other. The little paring knife sat between, the blade covered in bright red juic- Sans forced himself to look away. His soul shivered.

Toriel had turned back to him as she dried her hands on a kitchen towel, but Sans could see that her white fur had been stained the whole spectrum of pinks, reds, and purples by the small fruits.

“Oh goodness, I had not even considered that the juice would stain…” She trailed off, before looking up at him.

“and that”, Sans gestured emphatically to the reddish pink blotches on her furred paws, “is why i elected to skip helping.”

Toriel looked down at her paws thoughtfully for a moment, candy colored eyes drooping for a moment, before she sighed, “I suppose this will hamper my plans to rob the bank tonight…”

Sans cocked a brow ridge at her, but before he could speak she continued, “For I will certainly be caught **red** -handed.” She moved paws towards him as if offering them to him, but pulling her wrists together as if pretending she were shackled.

Silence fell over the pair. Sans stared at Toriel and she stared back, her hands still outstretched between them. Neither blinked.

Then as if they both felt the shift in mood at the same time, the pair burst into laughter. Sans doubled over, almost falling off his seated position on the countertop. Toriel had had to put her cherry juice stained hands onto the counter to keep herself from going weak in the knees. Both felt tears on their faces, but soon Toriel’s bleat had them both doubled over roaring with laughter and tears. They could practically feel the stress roll out of themselves as they laughed and cried with soul-deep relief from the break in the unspoken tension.

After several moments more, Sans finally regained enough composure to speak, “hehheheheh. heh, oh god, _t_ . even **hue** have to admit that one was **_char_ ** **-torcious**.” Sans snickered along with Toriel’s guffawing.

At last Toriel was no longer at risk of sliding to the floor, so she swiped at her watering eye with the back of her hand and replied in kind, “Why Sans, are **_fu_ ** **chs-ure** I do not possess **sticky** fingers?” She punctuated her words with a waggle of her fingers that just about had him toppling off the counter again.

Neither was sure, how long they carried on in this manner. Each cracking jokes worse than the last. All too soon knock knock jokes joined the mix, turning it into the most hysterical conversation shared between the two sleep-deprived monsters. Somehow despite her delirious state, the pie was completed and soon it was placed into the oven.

Toriel turned back towards him her grin wide enough to let her fangs peak out, _god she’s adorable_ . That thought had been replaying in his mind over and over since he had put down his book. From her bleating laughter, to her triumphant grin, to the little wag her tail would do when she was truly pleased, Sans couldn’t help **but** think that she was adorable.

Suddenly her smile fell, as she caught a look at something behind him. She turned in alarm to the stove and then towards the window in shock.

“t, what is it? what’s wrong?” Sans asked as he made to jump off the counter. But before he could complete the action she had turned back to him.

“Sans!” She said her voice alarmed, “It is dawn!” she exclaimed.

He glanced at the stove clock and shrugged, “nah, dawn’s not for another twenty five-ish minutes.” He wasn’t really shocked by the time or the lateness of the night, this happened too often for him to care.

Toriel’s eyes widened gently at him, despite her weariness she was still sharp as razor. “Sans, dear… why do you know the precise time when dawn occurs?”

His mind came up with a hundred different reasons he could give her, but as the realization began to bloom in her eyes he just stayed quiet. He looked down at the linoleum and shrugged. He heard her approach and soon her bare fuzzy feet came into view, but he didn’t bother to look up.

“How often… do you stay up like this?” she inquired softly, her voice gentle almost like a whisper.

He let out a breathless little laugh and leaned forward just slightly to rest skull against her. “...if you’d asked that a few months ago, i’d’ve said every night… but now ‘s more like two or three times a week…”

She didn’t move. She didn’t reply. They just waited there, together.

Eventually, Sans pulled back and craned his head back to look up at her. Her face was aghast. _way to go bonehead, she was just starting to feel better and then you go and drop the insomnia bomb on her…_ He opened his mouth ready to brush it off as joke, to tell her everything was fine and that she shouldn’t worry about him, but she spoke first.

“... And we keep waking you up!” she announced alarmed. Sans blinked up at her.

She started down at him.

 _waking me up? what does she mean, they only do that when i take-_ It clicked. He through his head back, coming up just millimeters shy of bouncing his skull off the cabinet behind him and laughed. Hard. “oh my god- t-” he gasped between fits of laughter.

“I had always just woken you up because Papyrus did and I had assumed he knew more about your sleeping habits and behaviors than I did- Sans I am so very sorr-” She began not sure whether his laughter was a good thing or not.

Sans interrupted her apology by returning his head to her chest and trying in vain to wrap her in a hug. “stars, tori! you’re perfect! don’t ever ch-”, but he cut himself off. He couldn’t say that to her. Not to her. Not to anyone. There was something inherently wrong with that saying.

Her paws moved to rest on the back of his ribcage. He thought she might pull him away, but she just left her hands there, returning the hug. Seconds past like that before she spoke, “Sans?”

That was it, just his name, but it was enough for him to both know what she had really asked and to know how genuinely concerned for him she was.

He blew out a breath and shook his head a little but he still didn’t pull away, “‘s nothing, t. i just- i just was gonna tell you not to change, but that’s wrong… to tell somebody not to change…” He fell silent, but she didn’t press him. She just waited for him to figure out what he wanted to say. “to be stagnant like that… to not change… it be wrong… ‘specially for someone like you… you need to grow and change and learn and live… nobody should just be stagnant.” _like me._ He hoped she hadn’t heard what he left unsaid.

He left her shift a little, stepping into the hug, not away. Her grip tighten on him. And then he felt it. That slow reassuring warmth spread through his chest, the one that could only come from her. _her magic._ And all of her emotions. _kindness, compassion, acceptance, affection_. It rolled through him in slow undulating waves. His hands tightened around her. He knew he couldn’t make her feel warm, but the emotions and the sentiment he could return. It was like all of the sweetest parts of a hug highlighted and amplified in a sort of comfort feedback loop. He didn’t ever want to let go.

  
They both stayed like that, both holding and being held, both giving and taking, until well past dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the word comfort in the prompt and my brain immediately shouted, "Hurt/Comfort" at the top of its stupid voice while throwing handfuls of glitter everywhere. 
> 
> "Memory", is the 11th book in the Vorkosigan Series written by Lois McMaster Bujold. If you love Sci-Fi you will love this book series. *obligatory favorite book plug*


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